


Caffeine is my drug, as are you

by JonStark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonStark/pseuds/JonStark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coffee shops are always busy but this one has a haunting for forever finding your soulmate amongst the dozens of coffee sipping, crazed lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Margaery/Sansa

Outside the wind blew fiercer than dragon’s breath, colder than a morning winter and bitterer than a cynical old woman complaining about youth. Hats were blown across the street and coats were pulled round bodies in attempt to maintain even the slightest bit of body heat. Business men hurried along with their briefcases and their bluetooth earpieces, mother’s held their children tight to their bodies, other dragging them along the town square by their hand screaming. Sansa was running from the taxi through town: one of those who had their coats wrapped tight around her body, until she gave up and retired to a coffee shop.

It was busy: a small chain of coffee shops in London and it was always filled with bustling and excited people. Running a hand through her hair, Sansa undid the buttons on her duffle coat and began rummaging through her bag for her purse while being jostled by people waiting for their drinks. She waited nine minutes for her coffee to be brought out to her, and by the time Sansa was ready to sit down and study, there were no vacant tables.

She glanced around. There was one seat opposite a woman and her crying baby, there was another in the booth of five thirteen-year-old girls all in crop tops and bright blue jeans and high top sneakers. Sansa scanned the room for somewhere else to sit, deciding that she would not, under any circumstances, return outside to the abysmal weather that awaited her just through the doors.

A few metres away from where Sansa was stood - close to the toilets - a young boy of Sansa’s age got out of his chair and went to the door. Striking fast, Sansa rushed to his vacant seat without realising that he had left somebody behind at the table too. Sansa had sat down before she noticed the girl who sat across from her at the table.

“Oh! I’m sorry! Is your friend coming back?”

“No. No he wasn’t my friend. It’s just busy. He wanted to sit down. You can sit there now if you want.”

Sansa smiled though she had already sat down in the chair. It was too busy to read, too cramped to start writing. The girl opposite with the long brown hair and pretty eyes was on her phone, an earbud in one ear while the other rested on her breast. Sansa pulled out her own phone.

 

A couple of weeks later, Sansa arrived at the coffee shop a little earlier than she usually was. It was a Wednesday, she didn’t have lessons until later that afternoon so she decided to grab something to eat and maybe one of the new Christmas coffees that were advertised on the signs which came in pretty new cups. She ordered one, waited a couple of minutes until it was given to her in the snowman cup. Smiling, Sansa thanked the barista and wandered downstairs, unravelling her scarf. It wasn't until Sansa had pulled her book out of her bag that she realised the girl from the coffee shop two weeks ago was there again today. Sansa caught the girl’s eye - just as she was about to leave, fastening up the buttons on her long, cream coat. The girl didn’t notice Sansa, slinging her bag across her shoulder and walked out.

 

The third time Sansa saw the pretty girl with the brown hair was the following day when the both waited to use the one toilet in the coffee shop. It was an awkward encounter; Sansa resting on the sink and the girl cramped awkwardly beside her, smelling faintly of flowers and the strong, signature scent of every perfume. When the lady in the toilet before Sansa finished, she scraped up against the girl and entered the cubicle. When she came out a few seconds later, the girl was gone.

 

Sansa found herself returning to the coffee shop more frequently now, and didn’t understand why until she caught sight of the mysterious girl who sat alone, reading a fashion magazine in the corner. A part of Sansa hated the girl - merely because she wasted money on expensive coffees (Sansa had noted her orders) in her own fancy mug, on her brand new phone with designer handbags and watches, flicking through several magazines that cost £4 each and Sansa had seen her that very month, read five variations of the same topic. Sansa wasn’t poor, but she certainly wasn’t filthy rich like the girl who flaunted leather bags and rose gold watches and who had been seen pulling out a makeup bag and applying matte powders and lipsticks of very expensive manufacturers - and the perfume she wore was £200 a bottle! £200 to make you smell a little bit nicer until the smell wore off! Sansa had recognised the smell being the same as her boyfriend’s mum’s, and that had factored in on Sansa’s sudden dislike for the girl. It angered Sansa to see her. If you have all this money why drink here? Why not go and drink in fancy champagne bars? It angered Sansa curiously. How could she hate someone so much she didn’t even know?

 

She was in the middle of writing her coursework when she was interrupted. Sansa hated being interrupted - that was why she studied at the cafe so frequently. Sansa glanced up, slowly taking out an ear bud. It was a boy - a charmingly handsome boy, Sansa noted. He had long brown hair, cream skin, beautiful brown eyes and a smile when he saw Sansa that made her stomach combust inside her. When she opened her mouth to speak to him, only sounds came out, and he chuckled at her.

“Uh, hey - do you have a pen?”

“A-A pen?” Sansa echoed. “Uh - yeah! Sure - hold on… Here we go - uh -” She held out two pens for him. “Pink or black?”

He took the pink one surprisingly. “Pink, thanks. I’ll give it back to you in a second, I just need to - write - something - down - here you go!”

He passed her back the pink pen he had used to write on his hand with. Sansa smiled, resting it down beside her laptop. “So - uh - what did you need it for?”

“Just to write my - write her number down with.”

Sansa looked to the girl he had gestured to. Her. Of course! Why guy would ever come and try and chat Sansa up when they had the positively lovely looking girl across the room from her, who was smiling triumphantly at Sansa, giving her a meek smile. She smiled back viciously, making the profound statement that she was not somebody that she could now be friendly with.

“Loras, by the way, Loras Tyrell.”

Tyrell. It was small wonder why the girl had expensive clothes and bags if her boyfriend was Loras Tyrell. “Sansa,” she told him.

“Oh, okay then Sansa… See you around.”

She knew that they wouldn’t.

 

“I saw you talking to him.”

Sansa had exited the toilet cubicle and was preparing to wash her hands when the girl who was dating Loras Tyrell spoke to her. It was only the following day and Sansa hadn’t seen her in the shop before she went into the toilet. With an uncertain look attempting to act innocent, Sansa asked who.

“Loras! He asked you for a pen; he was writing down my number.”

“Oh him… I have a boyfriend anyway… Sorry if you thought-”

“Joffrey Baratheon, yeah I know your boyfriend. When Loras told me your name I knew I’d heard it somewhere. Sorry if you got the wrong impression; Loras is my brother. My name’s Margaery.”

Sansa felt like a fool. Thinking of it, Margaery and Loras looked awfully similar, and it was common knowledge that Loras Tyrell preferred the company of men rather than women. She’d been so self absorbed in her envious hate for the unknown girl in the coffee shop that she hadn’t thought to think of the logic behind it all. She felt even worse being bitter about Margaery’s money; the Tyrell’s got their money through their incessant charity work: building houses for the less fortunate, donating large amounts to aspiring companies and businesses, supporting acts who performed for charity events, the list of how the Tyrell’s made their money was endless and there was Sansa: hating Margaery for the simple fact because she was prettier than she was and Sansa was jealous of the nice things she had.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

An awkward silence passed between them until Margaery pulled herself off the sink. “Are you going to be here tomorrow?”

“Maybe... I dunno.”

“Okay,” Margaery said with a smile. “Do you have a pen?”

“A pen? Uh… Sansa reached into her coat pocket. Only a blue one-”

“-Great.”

Margaery took Sansa’s hand, and she found herself telling Margaery: “I haven’t washed my hand yet…”

“Well make sure you put my name in your phone before you do. I was hoping we could meet her before we go out for dinner.”

“Go out for dinner?”

“I know you better than you think I do, Sansa, and I know you don’t like Joffrey. I want to get to know you better; I want to go out to dinner with you.”

Sansa found this girl so compelling; one minute ago they had been strangers, now they were borderline friends and arranging to go out for dinner tomorrow night. The world was amazingly corrupt.

“Okay,” Sansa said quietly, “please don’t tell Joffrey.”

“Relax,” Margaery whispered, the smell of her perfume deepening itself inside Sansa’s senses as lips made contact with her cold skin. “See you tomorrow.”


	2. Robb/Myrcella

_What time will you be home?_

_Six ish_

_Be more specific._

_Fine. 6:00_

She put her phone in her pocket then, not purely out of annoyance, but also due to that she was the next person to have their drink order taken. She ordered an orange based drink - deciding against coffee for the reason that it was a glaringly hot summer day and Myrcella was struggling against the heat as it was already without adding a steaming hot coffee in her body. A part of her wish she’d stayed at home in her air conditioned mansion, but upon further thinking, Myrcella realised she would take the heat of a summer day against the cruelty of Joffrey, drunkenness of her father and meer presence of her mother whom insisted on knowing Myrcella’s movement every minute - which was why Myrcella told her mother she was at the Starbucks on the other side of town rather than the Costa inside the shopping centre.

It was a saturday, so the shop was rather busy. It took a while for Myrcella to be served and to have her drink made, but it was a small sacrifice she made to get out of the house and enjoy a drink other than all the diet shit or alcohol Mum kept in the house. Apparently Myrcella had to keep an eye on her figure if she wanted to attract handsome men. _Fuck men,_ she thought as she took a sip of the sweet, sugary, iced drink she held in her hands.

She took a seat on one of the larger tables in the small shop where two businessmen sat opposite one another seemingly doing their work out of the office, a young girl studying while eating a sandwich and a boy a little older than Myrcella who had his earphones in, tapping on the table, persperating slightly through the white polo he wore. Myrcella was rather taken aback by the handsomeness of this boy - if she had seen his face before she sat down, she would never have had the courage to sit opposite him and Myrcella was not a shy person. Awkwardly she smiled at him and he gave her the faintest of smiles possible before getting up and leaving her at the table, a half drank bottle of water too.

 

In attempt to leave the house again and return to the shop, Myrcella left the house before her Mum and Dad would arrive home from work, dodging Joffrey’s room and Tommen watching television. She pulled out the drive in her white mercedes (too an elaborate gift from her Mum and Grandfather) and drove off towards town in pursuit of the coffee shop.

He was there again: the boy in the polo, leather jacket and black skinny jeans. The boy was in front of Myrcella in the queue for a drink and if he recognised her, he made no attempt to tell her so. Discreet attempts Myrcella made to grab his attention before eventually asking him if he had change for a ten pound note, to which he merely shook his head and turned up the music on his phone.

“Don’t worry,” said the girl behind the counter as she served Myrcella. “He comes in here most days - we thought he liked Holly over there, but when she gave him her number on the back of his receipt he screwed it up and threw it in the bin. Handsome isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Myrcella smiled. “Do you know his name?”

“We found him on Facebook: Robb Stark.”

 _Stark._ Of course, Myrcella should have seen it before, from what her Mum had told her about Robb Stark’s father, they seemed extremely alike: rude, aloof, impertinent towards her, ignorant - Cersei had used many adjectives to describe Ned Stark, and they all seemed to have been passed down to his son. Myrcella began to hate him more now, though she had never came into direct contact with him truly yet it seemed that Robb Stark was more to her than the handsome stranger who bumped into her at a coffee shop.

 

The first time Robb Stark spoke to Myrcella was the first time Myrcella had re entered the shop (several weeks later) since discovering who the boy in the leather jacket was. Robb Stark seldom crossed her mind since, for which she was grateful for, but she somewhat missed she had held onto a couple of more details when he spoke to her.

“You got an iPhone 5?” He asked her.

Myrcella looked up from her phone. “Huh?”

“Have you got an iPhone 5? I need to borrow your charger if you’ve got it.”

“I don’t bring my charger,” Myrcella said apologetically, “I charge my phone at home before I go out.”

“I forgot; my brother stole it and I never asked him for it back.” Myrcella couldn’t think of anything to say in response to him. “Thanks anyway.”

 

She saw him the following day, sat alone on his laptop - the only thing beside drinking and tapping on his phone she had seen him do. Robb was sat at a table beside the queue, and as Myrcella waited in turn, she spoke to him.

“Did you get a charger then?”

He looked up at her with his curious blue eyes and smiled dashingly. “Nah, I just waited until I got home. You looking for somewhere to sit?”

Myrcella glanced around the room. In truth she was going to take the drink back to her car or perhaps go shopping, but she wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity on having a drink with Robb Stark: the handsome stranger who was perhaps not as aloof as she prejudiced him to be.

“Yeah, I am.”

He pulled off his laptop bag. “Sit down when you’ve got your drink if you want.”

“Okay.”

Myrcella did just that, ensuring that she ordered a large cold drink that would take a good length to finish and the taste would not alter if she left it too long. In fact, she ordered the same drink as she had done the first time she met Robb Stark: an orange iced one when it had been too hot to drink anything else. Myrcella slipped past the queue and seated herself across from Robb at his table.

“What’s your name by the way?”

She wondered if she should tell him. “Myr - Cel - Cella.”

“Cella? What’s that short for?”

She took an awkward sip of her drink. “What’s your name?”

“Robb.”

“Oh which school do you go to?”

“I go college, what about you?”

“I go King’s Academy.”

“Aye, my sisters go there: Sansa and Arya Stark - do you know them?”

“I’m in some classes with Arya.”

She instantly regretted what she told him. Myrcella saw the realisation in his eyes: the mysterious girl with the golden hair in the coffee shop was _Myrcella Baratheon_ : the daughter of his father’s best friend. Neither families had really met before, Myrcella realised, for the sakes of the feud between Stark and Lannister. They were not to blame if something were to happen between the two of them, were they? But the look in Robb’s eyes told Myrcella that he wanted as much more to do with Myrcella as he would with a urine infection.

“‘Cella is short for Myrcella, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she admitted.

There was a lengthy pause as Robb searched for something to say. “Did you know who I was?”

Nodding: “Yes.”

“And yet you still sat with me.”

The golden haired girl shrugged. “You’ve never done anything bad to me.”

“Aye,” Robb agreed, running a hand through the back of his dark red hair. "Well I don't see how this could hinder our relationship."

“Relationship?” Myrcella echoed, not fully understanding him.

“Call it what you will, but there’s that new film coming out soon - do you wanna go see it this Saturday maybe?”

She chewed her bottom lip. Her family had been pushing her at Trystane Martell all year, she’d been briefly seeing him over the same time period as well. Gods this would really piss off her family if she started dating _Robb Stark._ It would delight her father, but the rest of them would have quite different opinions on them both. Hadn’t Myrcella had so many attempts to disentangle herself from her family’s affairs though? Wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity to do what she aspired to do?

“What time?”

He grinned at her. “Seven-thirty. It’s a date.”

Myrcella took a long sip of her orange infused drink. _Yes it is._

 


	3. Tywin/Joanna

Tywin had done his father’s banking accounts so frequently it wouldn’t be a difficult task to attempt it with his eyes closed: that of course, would be a fool’s masquerade, and unlike his father and seemingly the rest of his family, Tywin Lannister was no fool. He was many things, but to call Tywin Lannister foolish or silly or brainless, and you were very much mistaken. He had all the brains and sense of the Lannister family combined and twice fold, yet no one seemed to ever take an aspiring eighteen-year-old seriously anymore. Either that, or they all so liked taking loans off his father they feared Tywin’s assets to Casterly and that they might not get away with not repaying their debts anymore. They made a mockery of the infamous Lannister words: _a Lannister always pays their debts_ \- but they never ask for them back.

He closed his spreadsheet, running his hands through his thinning golden hair - yes, at eighteen-years-old, it seemed Tywin was already balding. The thought was almost laughable if Tywin wasn’t so against the idea of being cheerful when his family was corrupt and slowly heading towards bankruptcy.

“How could the Lannister’s go bankrupt?”

The coffee shop was quiet: chairs were stacked on the back of tables, the coffee machines were silent, only one light flickered on and his sister was scribbling tomorrow’s daily specials on the black chalkboard which her boss allowed her to do because she had been given lessons on calligraphy when she was young and had the fanciest writing of everyone else who worked there. Genna should not be working at a coffee shop; she was fifteen-years-old and had to lie on her C.V about her age just to get this job to help support the family. Though she made minimum wage, it was clear to see how close Casterly was to repossession if the CEO’s own daughter had to scrape away at a coffee shop to help support the family. Kevan worked at a supermarket and Tyrek and Gerion walked dogs, baby sat - anything that people would allow two thirteen and twelve-year-old boys to do, they would do just to make the family a little bit of money.

“Because father’s a nice man.”

“Father is a _foolish_ man.”

“Tywin don’t,” Genna simpered. “Please not today.”

Tywin scoffed. “Mother would never have lived to see us put through this life. She would have spoke to father and sorted this out. Look at us Genna! You slave away pouring coffee while studying for exams and I’m missing a year of University to do father’s paperwork! It’s a joke!” He slammed the lid of his laptop down, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are we going to do?”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

“Nonsense!” Tywin claimed, borderline shouting at his younger sister. “There must be _something_!”

“We have other family,” Genna whispered. “Uncle Jason and Aunt Marla could lend us money.”

“They’re _part_ of Casterly, Genna; they’re as destitute as us.”

“Stafford and Jo could work.”

“The only way Stafford would go and work is if there was something in it for him.”

“The family’s pride and name should be enough for him!” Genna yelled. “What about Jo?”

Genna was Tywin’s only sister, usually so in control and independent and _strong_. If you were to look at her now, you would see nothing more than a chubby fifteen-year-old girl with a messy apron and tangled blonde hair screaming at her brother and fretting about the state of the family’s affairs: matters that _no_ child should ever have to concern themselves with. Tywin pitied her, but her lack of comprehension only made him more irritable.

“Whores don’t make that much money.”

“Stop it Tywin!” Genna yelled. “Why do you have to be so nasty all the time? It’s not _my_ fault father lets all the other business men walk all over him. What can I do? He doesn’t value me because I’m a girl, he was fine with me working in shitty _Frey’s Frappes_ , but as soon as Kevan tells him he got a job at fucking _Waitrose_ he acts as if the whole world has collapsed around him! Fucking _Waitrose_ , Tywin!”

“I hear they pay him pretty poorly too.”

She threw her towel on the counter with as much vexation as a fifteen-year-old could. “Fuck you Tywin.”

“What do you expect me to do? Single-handedly run the business?”

“You would do a better job than father.”

There were no lies in her words. Tywin remained silent as he took the cloth from Genna and assisted her in scrubbing down the rest of the tables and change the filters in the coffee machines. He hated seeing Genna work in a place like this for such vile people that the Frey’s were and watch as Kevan packed shopping bags for dithering old women, but with his father still in control of Casterly there was little he could do.

 

His prayers were answered the following day in the form of his broad chested but slim second-cousin Joanna Lannister. He had not seen her in seven months since she had gone to University to study Business and Finance at some ancient buildings in the midlands. It was the course Tywin had wanted to study but had to take a gap year in attempt to fix the family business. It explained Tywin’s sudden hatred for his cousin: why he had called her a whore yesterday and why he had refused to attend her homecoming party at Christmas. He was jealous of her, and perhaps if he had of attended the party, he would have recognised her when she entered the shop instead of drooling over her as eighteen-year-old boys did when they were in the company of beautiful young women.

“Genna rang me yesterday, she said you needed my help.”

“I don’t need you help.”

“We’re family Tywin, I’m going to help you regardless. Show me Tytos’ accounts.”

Tywin was reluctant to pass on the spreadsheets of his family’s affairs to another person (a woman no less!) Joanna had reminded him that they _were_ family, and there were no secrets amongst their family that Casterly was drowning in immense debt no thanks to Tytos’ incompetence. So grudgingly he passed his laptop to his better experienced cousin and watched as she mulled through the numbers.

“Can I get you a coffee?”

“The first way I suggest we start saving money is for you to stop buying drinks from restaurants; one coffee costs the same as Genna’s two hour shift here. That is your last drink,” she informed, gesturing to his half-drunk black coffee.

Tywin had never been thrilled to be controlled in life, but with a glance to Genna who hovered above their table, cleaning up another, he bit his tongue with one of his salty remarks and took the jipes from Joanna.

“Remind me and tell me how are you supporting the family, Joanna apart from plunging us into debt with your student loans and incessant drinking and housing costs.”

She glared at him. “Dad set up a fund for me since I was born.”

“And that money could be put to better uses now. Perhaps _you_ should drop out of University to save the family money. If you can waste,” he pulled the screen down and searched for Joanna’s university fees, “upwards of fifty thousand pounds in loans and spending, then I can afford cups of coffee at my sister’s shop.”

“Fine,” Joanna said coolly, returning the laptop to Joanna, “you clearly know more about this than I do. Perhaps you should take control.”

“ _That is what I am trying to do_!”

“Then stop,” she said calmly, taking his hand, “take a weekend off. Come with me to Birmingham and experience what student life is like with minimal spending. Do you think with looks like these I pay for drinks and dinner? That’s how _I_ support the family, Tywin. Maybe prostitutes _do_ make enough money.”

A faint laugh overcame Tywin. “Did Genna tell you I said that?”

“I don’t like going out with random guys just to be able to eat, Tywin. I’d love to be able to afford a burger without worrying about the debt it will put our family in.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Because I don’t exactly announce it,” she informed.

There was something slightly compelling about Joanna Lannister that a second-cousin should not be thinking about. Joanna was intelligent, witty, dependable and _fucking_ gorgeous - how had he never seen it before? She was everything that Tywin would have looked for in a plausible date when he was younger. _So what’s stopping you_?

“Maybe I could take you for that burger sometime.”

“Tywin I have a boyfriend.”

“And I have thousands of pounds of debt to hide from the taxman, but that’s what we do in life: we cheat until we find a better alternative. Does that sound appealing to you?”

A smirk passed over her lips as she glanced up to Genna who was completely disengaged from their conversation now and currently assisting a customer at the tills. “Fine, but you have to buy me a drink first.”

“I’m sure I can afford it.”


	4. Jon/Ygritte

His dark hair was in a bun: covered by a black beanie, Jon’s black duffle was fastened up to his chin and he peeled off his leather gloves and undid his coat as he waited in line to be served a coffee. It was fucking _freezing_ outside the building; he was numb with cold where snow had rested and melted on his face. Jon didn’t particularly like paying the costly prices of street branded coffee, but £3 for a steaming hot drink which would warm him up in ten minutes couldn’t sound better. He ordered a large white coffee (or a grande cappuccino which he discovered it was actually named) and took it to sit down at a table on the raised dais. With few spaces left, Jon resorted to sitting opposite a girl with her earphones in, tapping on her phone (who did not refuse Jon the seat as she had not heard him ask). Jon pulled out his book from his brown leather bag, but after reading less than a paragraph, the red haired girl began to talk to him.

“Pierre and Natasha get married in the end.”

Jon’s eyes flickered up from the page he was on and slammed the book close. “Cheers.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled at him.

He shook his head. “Why would you tell me that?”

The girl shrugged. She was a thin creature: her cheekbones clearly visible and her collarbones showing above the neckline of her knitted grey jumper. “‘cause you sat with me and I like sitting alone.”

“I asked you if I could sit here but you were listening to your shitty music.”

“You know nothing; I wasn’t listening to any music.”

Jon scowled at her. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like what?”

Jon held up the large hardback book he had been reading. “ _War and Peace_ \- did you like it?”

“Never read it, just searched the ending to piss you off.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ygritte.”

“Jon Snow.”

“I never asked for your name boy. What kind of name is _Jon Snow_?”

“What kind of name is Ygritte?”

“One that’s better than _Jon Snow_ ,” she spoke with a harsh Scottish accent much different than the London ones Jon heard daily. Jon asked what she was doing so far away from home. “That’s none of your business, Jon Snow. Where are you from? You don’t sound like a Londoner.”

“Yorkshire. Where abouts in Scotland are you from?” She told him. “Never heard of it.”

“You know nothing Jon Snow. I’ve never heard of Yorkshire. What are you doing in London?”

“Studying arts at University.”

“What a load of shit that is; you don’t need a degree to paint a picture.”

Jon laughed. “You do to study art and philosophy. You’re the one who knows nothing. What do you study?”

“What makes you think I study?”

“Why else would you be here?”

“To visit family maybe, or shopping with my friends or just to see the sights.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You calling me a liar?”

“Aye. You have the social skills of a chair, you’re not here with any friends. You’re in a coffee shop pretending to listen to music so I don’t think you’re here to see Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament - which are the other side of London to us. And to visit family, well… I just don’t think so.”

“So why _am_ I here?”

“You’ve ran away from home.”

She peered at him through tangles of her wild red hair. “You know _nothing_ Jon Snow.”

“I know that I think you’re pretty. I know that I want to get to know you better and I know that you’re scared of being on your own. Could I take you out for dinner tonight?”

“You think I’m alone, Jon Snow, then you truly _do_ know nothing. But aye, you can take me out for dinner.”

He took his coffee in his still gloved hand and Ygritte stared at him in curiosity. “Come on then if you want to go for dinner.”

“Now?”

“No time like the present. If you’ve finished your coffee we can go.”

She gave him what seemed to be a nervous smile, but truly Jon couldn’t imagine this girl to be nervous; too headstrong and wild to be made awkward at the prospect of going for dinner with someone who was more or less a stranger to her. She was brave and she was tough and Jon Snow was in love.


	5. Lyanna/Rhaegar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stumbled across my account, thought I'd bash something out on a Thursday night

Escaping from the rain, Lyanna dashed into a café. Never before had she seen rain like this – in the middle of June as well – it was torrential: her face ached from where the rain drops had slashed her cheeks like a blade cutting through skin. She touched the side of her cheek tentatively and stared through the window, which wasn’t actually a window, but a solid glass wall – a marketing technique so consumers could see into the café and buy their products. It wasn’t the glass wall that had tempted Lyanna into the café, it was the fact her little bastard of a brother had stolen her umbrella in town, ran off after the first sight of rain and left Lyanna to face downpour.

However, if Benjen had not stolen Lyanna’s umbrella, she would not have entered the café, and she would not have taken three steps backwards, oblivious as to what she was doing, and collide with a stranger.

“Oh! I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry!”

She expected the gentleman to be angry – hell, if he was anything like the blokes in Lyanna’s life he would be livid. Instead the stranger laughed.

“It is fine, it is empty.”

“Do you need a napkin?”

“Like I said, the cup was empty.”

Lyanna let out a soft laugh and smiled at the stranger. He was unusual looking for a bloke in his late teens or early twenties: long silver hair, purple eyes and a marvellous suit that probably cost more than the owner of the café paid to buy the shop.

“Do _you_ need a napkin?”

Lyanna frowned in confusion: “What?”

“You are soaking wet.”

“Well it is raining,” she japed.

“Let me buy you a drink – _no_ , I insist, come on. I do not believe it is courteous of a man to allow a fine lady, such as yourself, to pay for her own drink.”

“My Dad always told me not to talk to strangers.”

The gentleman chuckled. “Your Dad is a smart man.”

“He also told me that it _is_ common courtesy for a man to pay for a lady, so I’ll have a hot chocolate.”

“You are spritely, aren’t you?”

Lyanna crossed her arms, smirking. “And who are you to make these assumptions?”

“Rhaegar.”

“Says it all.”

Rhaegar laughed. “Excuse me?”

“Pretentious name, expensive suit – buying everyone and anyone drinks when you stumble into them. Targaryen Attorney, I believe?”

“What are you, a Lannister – no, you have not got the golden hair. You have the personality for it, granted, I haven’t met a tongue like yours since I had the pleasure of battling it out with the Lannister’s at the Reign’s tax court date – the Lannister’s _slaughtered_ them – took them for every penny. So if not a Lannister, I shall guess Martell.”

“Stark.”

“Stark? Good god, I should have guessed; I worked with your eldest brother many moons ago, loathed him in the office but he did know how to have a good time out.”

“Mhm…” Lyanna moaned, glancing behind her shoulder. The rain was slowly slowing down, and Lyanna didn’t fancy leaving this man quiet yet. “So are we going to sit down and have a drink or stand in the middle of a café?”

Rhaegar smiled. “Find a table and I shall get us some drinks.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want your couple writing about, just leave me a comment - and if you want it centred around a conversation/prompt, include that as well.


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